[+/-] The Word made Flesh

From Come Be My Light, part of a poem by Mother Teresa in response to Jesus' question, "Who do you say that I am?" (Mt 16:15):

Jesus is the Word made Flesh.
Jesus is the Bread of Life.
Jesus is the Victim offered for our sins on the Cross.
Jesus is the Sacrifice offered at the Holy Mass
for the sins of the world and mine.
Jesus is the Word--to be spoken.
Jesus is the Truth--to be told.
Jesus is the Way--to be walked.
Jesus is the Light--to be lit.
Jesus is the Life--to be lived.
Jesus is the Love--to be loved.
Jesus is the Joy--to be shared.
Jesus is the Peace--to be given.
Jesus is the Bread of Life--to be eaten.
Jesus is the Hungry--to be fed
Jesus is the Thirsty--to be satiated.
Jesus is the Naked--to be clothed.
Jesus is the Homeless--to be taken in.
Jesus is the Sick--to be healed.
Jesus is the Lonely--to be loved.
Jesus is the Unwanted--to be wanted.
Jesus is the Leper--to wash his wounds.
Jesus is the Beggar--to give him a smile.
Jesus is the Drunkard--to listen to him.
Jesus is the Retarded--to protect him.
Jesus is the Little One--to embrace him.
Jesus is the Blind--to lead him.
Jesus is the Dumb--to speak for him.
Jesus is the Crippled--to walk with him.
Jesus is the Drug Addict--to befriend him.
Jesus is the Prostitute--to remove from danger and befriend.
Jesus is the Prisoner--to be visited.
Jesus is the Old--to be served.

It reminds me of that story from Matthew 25 (the implications of which struck me a few years ago).

If you're aware of the central theme of this book - Mother Teresa's spiritual darkness - you would probably assume that the title is her plea to God. In fact, the opposite is true. "Come, be My light" were the words by which Christ called Mother Teresa to Calcutta.

I think the call can be understood in two ways. The obvious meaning is that Mother Teresa was to be a conduit of Christ's light to the poor, through her compassion and service. As she says above, "Jesus is the Light--to be lit."

But the latter part of the poem reveals a second meaning: Jesus is not only the source of the light but also, in some sense, the one to whom we bring light. When we feed and clothe and love other people, in a very real sense we are feeding and clothing and loving Christ.

This is something I need to work on - seeing Jesus in the people around me, and especially those in need. There is no need for me to discern who is deserving of my love. Every day I see Christ, as Mother Teresa said, in many "distressing disguises". My highest calling is to love him with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, however he may present himself to me.

I pray that my eyes may be opened, to see the Word made Flesh.

[+/-] Come Be My Light

I've been reading Come Be My Light - a sort of spiritual biography of Mother Teresa, based on her personal letters. These letters reveal that despite a dramatic call from God to ministry in Calcutta, Mother Teresa abruptly ceased to feel his presence when she arrived, and conducted the rest of her life in spiritual darkness and sorrow. (An article in Time offers more details. Via Michigan.)

I found the book less challenging and inspiring than I'd hoped - I am so unlike Mother Teresa that I scarcely believe we're of the same species, and I could no more love like her than write like Shakespeare. And while she and I have both experienced disappointment with God, hers was vastly different in content, degree and duration. The book is interesting (if a bit slow-moving) and has certainly increased my respect - nay, awe - of Mother Teresa, but at the expense of any hope I had of relating or empathizing with her.

More than ever I understand the impulse to pray to saints. Mother Teresa reached a peace about her inner darkness and saw her suffering as a means for God to bring others to salvation. On the back cover is this quote: "If I ever become a Saint--I will surely be one of 'darkness.' I will continually be absent from Heaven--to light the light of those in darkness on earth."

It reminded me of the Buddhist idea of a Bodhisattva: a person who achieves enlightenment (Buddhahood) but who refrains from entering Nirvana indefinitely in order to free others from suffering. (It also reminds me of the first verses of Romans 9, my least favorite chapter in the Bible, in which Paul makes a statement so powerful and so beautiful that I almost forgive him the rest.) Greater love, I contend, has no one than this.

I said earlier that I can hardly believe I'm of the same species as Mother Teresa. But I am, and that's the whole point. She was no angel-messenger come down from heaven. No god among mortals, no Word-made-flesh. She was a woman. A mortal like myself, and a sinner. However different she was in her character, experiences and actions, we are somehow of the same essence, and I feel a kinship with her that I could have with no higher being. Transcendent in love and holiness, she is near to me yet in her frailty and finitude.

Pray for me, Mother. Saint of Darkness, be my light.

[+/-] Community

Well, I'm back. I don't know if I'm going to keep doing this or what. I've got things to write about, but I don't know if I have the time or the motivation. We'll see how it goes.

What I've been thinking about most recently is community, as it pertains to Christian life. Winter Camp, as usual, was amazing. I seem to be at my best when I'm at camp. I don't think this is unusual.

It seems like we tend to separate community from the rest of life. We go on retreats or whatever and we have these great experiences of intimacy and commonality and it's refreshing and inspiring. And then we go back to our real world and try to live our lives the way we wanted to or thought we were going to when we were at camp.

Why do we live like this? I know that I can't live at home the way I can at camp. Maybe that's a failure on my part. Maybe I'm supposed to be able to be able to transcend my circumstances and feelings and be loving and purposeful all the time. But I think it's easier to change my environment than to stop being affected by it.

I know its not always possible to create an ideal environment. I know things get in the way, or things fall apart, and I can't just hide from the world at camp or somewhere. But I don't think I should have to choose between being in community and being in the world.

I want to live in a community. A focused, structured, missional community. I want to have people around me who are committed to the same goal, and committed to me. I want people to serve, and to serve with. I want people to guide me and encourage me and touch me and share their lives with me.

I don't think I'm being greedy or unrealistic. I think this is the way I'm meant to live. And I think I can do it.

I don't know how all the details will work, but I'm trying to figure it out. Maybe I'll join a monastery. I hear there are Franciscans in town. Maybe I'll hook up with the New Monastics. Maybe I'll run away to L'abri for a bit. Maybe I could start my own thing. I don't know.

I'm open to ideas.